The Strongest Souls
by 1917farmgirl
Summary: An almost crash landing on a strange planet brings some unplanned guests to Serenity. But when Serenity refuses to get up and going again, and their new friends' pasts start catching up, Mal wonders exactly how much trouble he's bought himself and his crew. Full crew fic, set mid-series. Unconventional crossover with Andromeda.
1. Chapter 1

**The Strongest Souls**

 _Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars._

 _Kahlil Gibran_

 **Chapter 1**

Wash eased the throttle back and powered down the ship before slumping limply in the pilot's seat. Small droplets of perspiration ran down his face, and his arms were shaking from the strain of keeping _Serenity_ under control. He swore softly in Chinese, awe in his voice. "That was…insane. I've never had a landing like that before."

"That was a landing?" Mal asked, rubbing his head as he picked himself up off the deck that was littered with loose odds and ends and little plastic dinosaurs.

"Is your ship scattered in pieces across three miles of dirt?" Wash shot back.

"Well, no… But…"

"Then it was a landing," Wash interrupted as Zoë came up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, rubbing the trembling limbs. "As my dad always said, any landing you can walk away from is a good one."

"You done good, Husband," she said softly.

Mal watched for a moment then turned away quickly. He caught the comm. unit that was still swinging wildly through the air from the rough ride, pushing the button.

"Captain speakin'. Finally stopped. Everyone all right?"

One by one, shaky voices started checking in, letting him know that they were mostly alive and okay.

"Gonna need some time to check her over, though, Cap'n," Kaylee tagged on to the end of her message. "She took that pretty rough."

"Do what you need to, little Kaylee," Mal answered patiently just as the last voice to check in cut rudely over the comm.

"Gorramit, Mal! Wash been drinkin'? Little man tryin' to kill us all?"

"If you substitute the word 'save' for the word 'kill' you'd have it right," Wash answered, rolling his eyes as he gathered up his scattered plastic friends. "And you're welcome, by the way. Glad to have been of service."

"Just check and make sure everyone's alive and not bleedin' all over my pretty boat, Jayne," Mal sighed, shutting off the comm. Then he turned to the two others on the bridge with him. "So, anyone entertainin' any interestin' theories as to where in the 'Verse we are?"

"Well…" Wash said wearily, "I'd guess we were on a planet."

Mal glared at his pilot, not really appreciating the commentary.

"A rather nasty, pilot-hating planet," Wash continued, unperturbed. The captain sighed again and ignored the man, stepping up to the cock-pit window and staring out at the dull and muted colors beyond. Zoë came up beside him.

"Going outside, sir?" she asked calmly.

"Thinkin' on it. Not much out there, but gonna be stuck here for a bit while Kaylee checks her over. Might as well try and swing a job outta it."

Zoë looked out the window at the open, snow-covered meadows and clumps of bare trees before turning back to her captain with one slender eyebrow raised pointedly.

"You doin' secret business with squirrels now, sir?"

"No," Mal defended hurriedly. "But I was gonna say that we're also needin' to find out exactly why we almost got spread 'cross this planet like frosting. And, you really shouldn't spend so much time with him," he added, pointing toward the pilot who had finished picking up his toys and was climbing tiredly to his feet. "He ain't a good influence!"

"Sorry, Captain," Wash grinned, walking over and sliding his weary arms around his wife. "Should have thought about that before you let her marry me."

"Did think about it! She just didn't listen to me!"

"Won't happen again, sir," Zoë said with a smile. She turned her head and let Wash kiss her lightly, then pulled away, all business again.

"Ugh," Mal grimaced. "Do you have to do that in public?"

"Yes," Wash said firmly, planting another kiss solidly on his wife's lips before continuing. "It's in my marriage contract. States quiet clearly: _must kiss wife in public at least fifteen times a week_. What does that put me at, honey?" he smiled innocently at Zoë. "Seven? Think I'd better go for one more?"

Mal muttered under his breath in Chinese while Zoë said, "Not now, baby. The cap'n's ears are blushing."

"Are you two through?" the captain asked in exasperation, "'Cause I'm thinkin' there's a planet out there needs explorin'…"

"Sorry, sir," Zoë sobered as she turned and left the bridge, but she couldn't quite hide the twinkle in her eyes.

"Hey, I'm coming, too," Wash announced following on their heels. "Nothing for me to do here until Kaylee gives me the mechanical okay. Besides, that almost-crash landing was personal; this planet owes me some sunshine and daisies."

Mal rolled his eyes but didn't argue. The planet outside looked vast…and empty. It didn't bode well for procuring jobs, or parts should Kaylee need them to get _Serenity_ going again, but it also didn't appear overly threatening. Wash tagging along wasn't gonna hurt none this time around, and Mal had to admit the man had done the impossible getting them down out of the air in one piece back there. The least he could do was let his friend have his chance to step out in the sunshine and try to fry that fair skin of his.

They passed Book and Inara slowly picking things up and putting the galley and common room back in order.

"Where's Jayne?" Mal asked.

"With the doctor in the infirmary," Book replied.

"Thought everyone checked in as okay?"

"He got a pretty nasty cut on his head. He said he was fine, but Simon insisted on treating it anyway," Inara added. "It's nothing serious, though."

Mal nodded. "And River?"

"Keeping Kaylee company."

"All right. Goin' outside for a look-see. Keep an eye on things around here for me, an' tell Jayne to meet us there when the good doctor's done practicin' his stitchin'."

The trio climbed down the stairs, and Zoë hit the button for the cargo bay ramp to lower. It moved a few inches then groaned to a painful stop. Repeated jabs to the switch did nothing to convince the door to finish opening.

"Huh," Mal said, standing and staring at it, a perplexed look on his face. "That's the one thing on this boat that ain't never broke before…"

"It was working fine yesterday," Wash injected, moving over to inspect the switch more closely. "I could pull it apart and look at the power line. Might just be a problem with the wires not – "

"Leave it. Door bein' stuck is the least of our worries right now. We got others we can use just as well."

Together, Mal and Zoë managed to shoulder the side door open, letting bright sunshine spill into _Serenity_ as the three stepped outside and onto the planet.

"Ah…" Wash sniffed the air appreciatively. "Fresh air!" he gushed. "Fresh, cool, crisp, clean air! I think I forgive this planet."

Wash was right. The air was fresh and pure and clean. And cold! It had the distinct chill of a winter day and Wash considered running back inside for his coat, but then decided that would look less than manly. Instead he just crossed his arms tightly and looked around.

 _Serenity_ had landed in a wide meadow. On one side a large, open plain stretched off into the distance, covered in a layer of snow; on the other, broken groves of trees that had lost their leaves were scattered up to the feet of tall mountains visible in the background. A clear, blue stream wandered lazily through the meadow and off until it got lost in the woods. All in all, the three crewmembers felt like they had stepped out into an ancient postcard from Courier and Ives.

"Any idea where in the gorram 'Verse we are?" Mal asked, gazing with equal awe at the pristine landscape. "Don't seem likely the Alliance would leave a place like this unclaimed."

"Might be one of those vacation moons the Alliance always advertises about to rich folks. That blinding flash of purple light that knocked us around before this planet appeared out of nowhere and tried to kill us could have been a huge explosion," Wash hypothesized. "Must have thrown us clear off course."

"Vacation paradise world," Zoë muttered with disgust. "And millions starvin' an' dyin' on dustbowl rim-worlds 'cause the mighty Alliance wants to keep a moon all untouched for play."

"Yep," Mal said grimly. "Sounds about right. All right folks, keep your eyes sharp. Alliance vacation moon probably means Alliance nearby. We run into anyone, we're just good little Alliance citizens out on vacation, dong ma?"

Wash looked at Mal and Zoë skeptically, taking in the brown coat and striped pants, firearms, and grim expressions. "Oh, yes," he said rolling his eyes, "that will be extremely convincing."

"Well, you look like you're on vacation at least," Mal shot back with a grin and a nod to Wash's loud, colorful shirt. "You can do the talkin'."

Wash sighed and mumbled under his breath, "And now I know why I always stay with the ship…"

"Heard that," Mal answered back over his shoulder as he strode out into the meadow. Zoë smiled slightly at her husband who rolled his eyes then they both followed after the captain.

They wandered around for a good half hour, scouting out their location and looking for any signs of humanity.

"Don't think we're gonna get any job offers here, Mal," Wash said after a while, huffing from hiking after the other two through the frigid woods while swinging his arms to try and keep warm. Maybe he should start wearing a ratty brown coat; seemed to come in handy sometimes.

"Ponderin' on that my own self," the captain replied, the frustration evident in his voice. "Guess we'd best head back and let the others know, an' see what Kaylee needs to fix _Serenity_ up with. Ain't gonna find anything much that's useful out here so she's just gonna hafta patch her back together from scratch."

The two men turned to start back, but Zoë, who had wandered a few feet farther on, didn't move. "Sir," she called suddenly, her voice quiet but intense. "Sir, something over here."

Mal drew his gun and motioned for Wash to stay back, stepping up to Zoë's side. She pointed to a well-hidden cluster of trees that hugged a small incline about twenty feet away. He couldn't see anything but a few seconds later he heard it – a small, weak cough followed by a slight rustling of the bushes.

The captain nodded silently to Zoë, motioning his plan to her. Without making a sound, they crept forward, guns drawn but not raised. Wash hung back like ordered, but he couldn't resist following slightly out of curiosity. At the edge of the hiding place, Mal reached out and quickly pulled back the cover of branches.

There was a small, startled yelp and they found themselves staring into two huge, terrified brown eyes that protruded from a face so dirty and thin it was painful to look at.

"Don't hurt us! Please don't hurt us!" the owner of the eyes cried, cowering to the ground and dropping his head. The boy was tiny; he didn't appear more than eight, and was so thin he looked more like a skeleton wrapped in filthy, ragged scraps of cloth than a living, breathing little boy. Leather bits that might have once been shoes covered his feet, but his toes stuck out from the ends at least half an inch and were blue from the cold.

Wash stepped closer, and all three _Serenity_ crewmembers stared in shock, unable to say anything. The tiny child started to sob in the silence, shaking from fear. From farther back in the hiding place the sound of rough, painful coughing came, followed by the very disturbing and unexpected sound of clanking metal.

"Twig? Twig, what's wrong?" another weak, sleep-heavy voice asked, and a moment later a second figure crawled into view.

He was obviously older, a scraggly, dirty scruff of a beard covering his sunken cheeks, but even so he was still not much taller and every bit as thin as the younger boy. He wore the same ragged pants but no shirt, a threadbare blanket draped around his shoulders instead, gaping open at the chest and failing in its effort to keep out the cold. Most disturbing of all, however, was the amount of metal hanging from his skeletal form. Chains bound his wrists and his ankles, a large ring circled his waist with more chains running to his feet, and one final, smaller ring wrapped around his neck like some horrible collar. He couldn't move without the ghastly ensemble clanking, which it did as he reached weakly for the younger boy with one hand. His other hand was bandaged tightly in filthy strips of cloth to form what looked like a pathetic brace.

Wash suddenly swore harshly in Chinese, looking away with horror and pity in his eyes. The sound startled the young man who hadn't noticed them yet. His head whipped around toward them, pure terror on his face, and his hand clutched the little boy's shoulder tightly.

"Please don't hurt Twig!" he begged, trying to push the younger boy behind him. "He's just a kid! He only ran with us because we made him! Punish me if you have to, I'm used to it, but please, please don't punish Twig!"

 **Author's Note** :

This story is a bit hard to categorize.

It IS a Firefly story, set entirely within the 'Verse, and any additional characters can be read simply as original characters by Firefly readers. That's why I have chosen to post it in the Firefly section. Hopefully, no knowledge of other fandoms is needed to read and enjoy this story.

It is a crossover with Andromeda. Two characters (and much later maybe a few more) from that show have been plunged into the thick of things in the 'Verse. But you don't have to know anything about Andromeda to read this. It is all explained within the story.

It is an alternate ending to a multi-chapter Andromeda fic, Waiting for the Light, that can be found on my author's page. So it also features an OC that was introduced and developed there, as well as some situations that are not necessarily canon to the show, but have been established through the course of the first story. However, you don't have to read that story to understand this one. Because the Firefly characters are encountering everything for the first time, all pertinent information gets explained within the body of the fic. For those few of you that might be venturing into this fic by way of the original story, the diversion point for this alternate ending is in Chapter 56.

So, for the 3.6 of you that are still interested in reading after that complicated introduction, here we go!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Mal stared in bewildered shock at the wreck of a human trembling before him, a strong anger growing in his gut. As he watched, a severe bout of coughing overtook the young man, coming from deep within his chest and causing his entire frame to tremble. It told him that whatever else was going on this kid was seriously ill, not to mention all kinds of confusing. As his weak body shook, the blanket slipped off his shoulders, and Mal's anger revved up a notch further. He swore sharply under his breath, echoing Wash's choice of words from seconds earlier.

The young man's back from neck to waist was one mass of healing scar tissue, angry scabs, and long, oozing lacerations. Not one inch of unmarked skin remained; even his shoulders and upper arms bore scars. The kid had obviously survived a flogging of monstrous proportions recently, and from the looks of it, it had happened more than once. There were other scars as well, the worst of which was an ugly brand spelling out an unfamiliar word across his chest. It made Mal sick – and deadly furious.

He glanced sideways at Zoë and saw the same emotions reflected in her dark eyes. Wash stood next to her, open pain and shock on his face while small tears leaked unchecked down his cheeks.

"Please," the young man continued pleading in a raspy voice that carried over the quiet sobs of the little boy. Neither of them dared to look up from the ground and make eye-contact. "Please let me take his punishment. Please don't hurt him!"

Grimly, Mal holstered his gun and motioned for Wash to hold the branches back for him. Then he crouched down so he was level with the two boys.

"Son," he said gently to the older one. "No one's gonna hurt anyone. Don't intend to lay a finger on Twig here," he gestured to the little boy whom he assumed was called Twig, "or yourself either."

The little boy gulped and tried to stop his tears while the older one cocked his head slightly, as if listening especially hard.

"Who are you?" he finally asked hesitantly, still fearing a trick.

"Captain Malcolm Reynolds, but mostly just go by Mal. An' these here are Zoë and Wash, my first mate and pilot," Mal answered, taking care to keep his voice light and non-threatening. He didn't want to let the fury that was growing inside leak out into his words.

The kid didn't say anything for several seconds, and when he did speak it was to his companion. "Twig," he whispered, still not raising his head. "Are they Ubers?"

The little boy sniffled loudly, his body still shuddering slightly with suppressed sobs, but he lifted his head barely, scanning Mal and the others quickly before glancing back down.

"No," he whispered back in a tiny voice, "but they have guns."

Mal couldn't figure out why the older boy didn't just look for himself but brushed it aside. 'Verse could beat all kinds of odd behavior into a person. But he did decide he was tired of being confused in this conversation and it was time to take control. "Look," he spoke up, "don't know what these _ubers_ are you're talkin' about, but we ain't them an' I tell ya again we ain't gonna hurt ya. Looks as though someone's done enough of that already."

The sudden sound of running accompanied by the jangle of more metal caused Mal to turn sharply. Zoë stepped back and raised her weapon again, her feet in a loose and ready stance.

"Hey! Leave them alone!" an older man cried as he rushed awkwardly into the thicket, dropping a makeshift bag of something and grabbing a fallen branch to use as a weapon. He was considerably older and not quite as horribly thin or sick looking, but he was dressed like the other two and just as ragged and filthy. Like the young man, he was weighed down by heavy chains around his waist, wrists, and ankles. But unlike the other two, he wasn't sobbing in fear or coughing his head off.

"Now just hold on a minute," Mal said, standing up and turning to face the newcomer, his hands held up in a placating manner. He noticed with approval that Zoë still kept her gun out and trained on the angry man. "Ain't doin' anything to anyone here other than talkin'. Was just explaining to your friends that I'm not aiming to hurt anyone. So you can put the branch down," he suggested calmly.

"Oh, I think I'll hold the branch until your friend puts away the gun and you tell us exactly who you are and what you want."

 _The man has spirit at least_ , Mal thought. And was prepared to fight to defend the two boys, which was a mark in his favor in Mal's book. Still…

"You're hardly in a position to be backin' up those demands," Mal said lightly, raising an eyebrow as he looked the bedraggled figure up and down. "If we were plannin' to use them, branch wouldn't do much good against our guns. But, as I'm not hankerin' to shoot anyone, the stick really ain't needed." He indicated for Zoë to holster her weapon as well but to stay alert. The other man hesitated a little longer, but with the removal of the active threat, finally sighed and lowered the branch. He gathered up the bundle he'd dropped earlier and shuffled past the trio, seaming suddenly much more worn and weary now the adrenalin of the moment was gone.

"Harper? Twig? You two okay?" he asked gently, kneeling beside his two friends and ignoring Mal and the others. The little boy nodded, but his eyes were still huge and scared. "Yeah fine, Boss," the other answered around another wave of harsh coughing, finally raising his head.

"I brought more water," the older man said quickly, deep concern crossing his face as he listened to the hacking cough. "And I managed to find a few berries."

Thoughts were whirling inside Mal's head as he watched. It was more than obvious the three had escaped from somewhere, most likely a prison given the numbers on their clothes and the chains, and the last thing he needed was to bring even more trouble down on his own. Logic, survival, and common sense were all telling him he should walk away. But nobody deserved to be treated the way these people had been, especially not kids, and the part of Mal's soul that screamed for justice and fair treatment was telling him he couldn't.

From behind him, a string of whispered Chinese suddenly hit Mal's ears and he turned to find Wash staring at the scene with open pity and sorrow. "Mal?" he said quietly, his voice thick with anguish as he stepped forward, echoing the captain's own thoughts. "We've got more than a few berries back on _Serenity._ Can't we…" he gestured helplessly to the strangers, words failing him as he ran a hand across his face in disbelief at the sight before him.

" _Serenity_?" the older man asked, catching the name and standing again. He was clearly the leader of the three.

"My ship," Mal explained. "I'm Captain Malcolm Reynolds. Run a Firefly named _Serenity_."

"Captain Dylan Hunt, formerly of the _Andromeda Ascendant_ ," the other man answered tiredly.

"How'd you come to be here, in this condition? And what's with all the hardware, Captain Hunt?" Mal asked, pointing to the chains. "Makes a body a mite suspicious." He had a few horrible ideas of his own, but wanted to confirm them anyway.

The other captain sighed. "That is a very, very long story, Captain Reynolds. I hope you have a good dozen hours…"

"We're runaway slaves," the younger man suddenly spoke up, his voice bitter. "Now either turn us in and collect whatever reward the Niets think we're worth, or go away and leave us alone. I'm tired of being on display and you're scaring Twig."

Mal's expression darkened as he confirmed the very worst of the suspicions he'd been harboring. Slavers were the lowest and most despicably cruel of all humanity, preying on the helpless and ruining innocent lives to support their greed. Mal loathed them with a feeling that rivaled even his hatred of the Alliance. And to see what slavers had done to these people, one of them a tiny kid and the other not really much older… His blood boiled as he made his mind up.

"I can do better than that," he said firmly, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. "Like Wash said, got more'n a few berries on my ship. You wanna come back with us, I'm offering ya food and shelter, as well as medical attention and a way off this rock."

"Wait a minute," the older boy said, raising his head in sudden excitement, and Mal realized abruptly why the young man had refused to lift it before and make eye-contact. His clear, blue eyes stared aimlessly out from his thin face at…nothing. The kid was blind.

"Are you saying you have a ship here?" he continued.

"Yes, son," Mal answered quietly, not entirely able to hide the catch in his voice this time. The boy never even noticed, however.

"And you managed to land her? And she's not smashed to bits?"

"It wasn't pretty," Wash added, his own voice rough from emotion, "But I got her down. Trouble is, now she isn't really doing much in the getting going so we can take off again department."

The kid raised a hand and waved that away as unimportant while he fought a coughing fit. Finally, he was able to speak again. "We can fix that. The important thing is you made it down in one piece! That's incredible! What does your ship run on? Are the engines powered by – "

"Harper," Captain Hunt broke in quietly. The boy regretfully shut his mouth. The other captain then turned to Mal. "Thank you, more than we could ever, ever tell you for that offer. Food, shelter, medical help, and a ride off this planet are… Well, we'd pretty much given up hope."

"Well, there's no need wastin' time chattin' here in the cold when there's a warm ship waitin'," Mal answered. "Let's get you back to it."

Captain Hunt nodded and turned to his companions. The little boy named Twig scampered to his feet at his urging, still gazing with distrust at the strangers but willing to obey his friend. He swayed slightly when upright, but managed to stay on his feet with a little steadying from the older man. Then Captain Hunt turned to help the one he called Harper to his feet.

The emotions Mal had been holding back since he'd seen the two boys suddenly couldn't be contained as he glimpsed the older kid's feet. The young man struggled to stand, gritting his teeth against a hiss of pain, as the other patiently draped the blanket around his shoulders again, and Mal saw that his feet were bare, only wrapped in filthy, blood crusted scraps of cloth. Even standing on them was obvious agony for him. Walking must be pure torture.

Without a word, Mal stepped forward and scooped the young man up into his arms, chains and all, ignoring the weak protests, and started trudging back toward the ship. His face was grim with smoldering anger. And people wondered why he had lost his faith? Behind him Wash, with tears still in his eyes, very gently wrapped Twig's arms around his neck and picked the little boy up as well, following after Mal.

That left Zoë alone in the clearing with just the exhausted former captain.

"Thank you," the tall man said softly to her, gratitude deep in his eyes.

She nodded. "Cap'n's got a motto. _If you can't walk, you crawl. An' if you can't crawl, you find someone to carry you_ ," she said softly, staring after Mal with an unreadable expression. Then she turned back to the other man, bending down to help him gather up the few pitiful belongings the group had. "Come on," she said, reaching out to steady him and offer him a little support as well, " _Serenity_ 's this way."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Mal took his time walking back to the ship, not wanting to jar the young man he was carrying too badly and aggravate already aching injuries. The anger he was feeling spiked again as despite his best efforts, he watched the kid grit his teeth and try not to cry out in pain. From this close view, Mal could tell that the young man was not actually a kid, probably in his early twenties, but was so small and thin Mal couldn't help thinking of him as one, despite the scraggily beard covering his chin. He was just too small and vulnerable looking, bringing out Mal's protective side. Even with the heavy chains, the boy weighed next to nothing, and the captain was acutely aware of how fragile the burden he carried was.

They walked in silence until _Serenity_ came into view, and Mal couldn't stop a sad smile from crossing his lips when the little boy in Wash's arms let out an awed noise.

"Wow… A real spaceship."

"Yeah, little guy, a real spaceship. And you get to go in her," Wash answered, glad to finally see a normal childish reaction from the small boy. "Ever been in a spaceship before?"

The little boy's eyes darkened slightly with memory and he looked away, ducking his head. "Yes," he whispered. "It was dark and cold and they put big chains on me so I couldn't move around…"

Mal fought the urge to swear again as he listened, hearing Wash's gulp. "Well," the pilot said, his voice rough, "nothing like that is ever gonna happen to you here. _Serenity_ 's a warm, clean, pretty ship with nice things and good people. Promise."

They reached the parked ship and Mal let Zoë shoulder the side door open so he wouldn't have to set the young man he carried down. As soon as it was wide enough, he turned sideways and slipped past her with his burden still held gently in his arms. His boots echoed rather loudly as he walked across the empty cargo hold.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy asked suddenly, his voice weak and laced with more than a little fear. Mal was reminded sharply that the kid couldn't see, couldn't look around to know where they were going.

"On my boat now," the captain explained softly. "Takin' you up to the galley to see if we can't get you cleaned up a bit and something hot and filling down your insides. Then, gonna work on gettin' these chains off while my doctor looks ya over."

"Have him look at Twig first. Something's wrong with his heart and it's hurting him; been getting worse every day."

"I'll let him know, son," Mal said solemnly as he crested the top step and entered the common room just off the galley where the crew so often liked to gather. As gently as he possibly could, he lowered the young man down onto the couch. As furniture went, it was rather old and faded, but it was soft and warm and inviting so no one had ever thought of replacing it, not even Inara. Now it seemed to welcome the newcomers as a symbol of trust and hope, of home. Mal's newest guest lightly traced the fingers of his un-bandaged hand over the fabric, awe on his face, as if wondering if the softness was real. Mal found he felt like crying and had to turn away slightly.

Wash entered the room and deposited his own burden on the couch next to the blind boy. The little one immediately scooted over next to him, clinging to his arm. Zoë and Captain Hunt came last, the latter's chains clanking harshly against the metal decking.

"Have a seat, Cap'n," Zoe offered kindly, gesturing to the others on the couch.

"You offered medical attention," the other captain pushed, not sitting. "My friends desperately –"

"Your friends desperately need many things, Captain Hunt," Mal cut in, "including some real food. Now, I'm aware of their need, yours as well, for immediate doctorin', and I promise you'll get it, but I'm thinkin' whatever hurts they've got have waited this long, ain't gonna die in the next twenty minutes. Figured you'd all feel considerable better with a little food an' drink before we tackled the healin'."

Hunt seemed to think about Mal's words for a moment before nodding and sitting gratefully on the couch next to the others. "Thank you. Real, hot food would be incredible. And it's just Dylan. Not even my own crew calls me captain, and I'm a long way from my ship and the days of having command of anything."

"Mal suites me just fine," Mal replied in return. "Don't stand much on formalities 'round here. Ain't got the time or the need. Since we're doin' the introductions, I gather your youngest friend is called Twig?"

"Yes."

"And who might you be, son?" Mal asked the older boy, touching his knee softly so he'd know he was being spoken to.

"Harper," the kid answered quietly. "Was Dylan's engineer. Now just…well…you can see," he trailed off sadly.

Mal patted his knee in silent sympathy, not at all sure what to say to that.

"Captain," the voice of Shepherd Book broke into their conversation as he stepped into the galley. "Kaylee asked me to…" The preacher trailed off as he caught sight of the strangers. He stared at the three bedraggled newcomers for several long moments, taking in every grim detail as his face clouded with sorrow and pity. "Who are these?" he asked, shocked.

"Passengers," Mal said firmly in a voice that brooked no arguments as he stood and walked over to greet the older man. "An' you bein' the resident wiz with food, glad ya popped in. Saves me the trouble of goin' and findin' ya. Was wondering if you could fix up something hot and filling for them?" Mal leaned closer and dropped his voice so only the Shepherd could hear. "Thinkin' they ain't had much in the way of food for quite a long while, so you'd best make it good, but simple. Their bodies won't take kindly to anything fancy right now."

"Of course, I'd be glad to cook. Anything I can do to help."

"Thanks, Preacher," he said quietly, then added in a low whisper, "Keep an eye on them while you're at it? Ain't expectin' any trouble, but learned the hard way not to discount anything." After Book nodded his agreement, the captain beckoned Wash and Zoë over. "Gonna go see if I can round up some better clothes for our guests. Few of my things might fit Captain Hunt there. Have to just do our best for the boys. Wash, you get those chains off, dong ma? Don't care what you use, just get them off, okay?"

Wash gulped and nodded, his face still anything but composed.

"Zoë," Mal continued, turning to his first mate. The woman was looking unusually solemn, and Mal knew she was deeply touched and affected by what she'd seen. She was letting her emotions creep much closer to the surface than usual, to the point that more than just he or Wash would be able to look at her and tell what she was feeling. Gazing at her right now, her eyes clouded and sad, he couldn't fathom how anyone could ever call her cold and distant. "Got somethin' a little more difficult I need you to do," he said softly. "Ain't too keen on Kaylee or River seeing our new passengers in their current state. Gonna be shock enough seein' 'em cleaned up and tended to, neither one of them needs to be seein' the chains, or the scars, or the rags they're pretending are clothes. Don't care how you do it, but find a way to keep the girls occupied and out of this room and the infirmary until I give you the all-clear."

"Yes, sir," Zoë agreed. "I'll go see how the engines are coming, and if need be, we'll all visit Inara for a bit."

"Good," Mal nodded, not for the first or last time extremely grateful for his crews' support. They might argue with him from time to time…oh all right, most of the time…but that was just part of what made them such a good team. They didn't have to act on pretense around each other. That and the fact that, for the most part, they were just plain, decent, good people. Holding onto that thought, Mal watched them leave before turning back to Dylan, Harper, and Twig who were still just sitting there wearily, basking in the softness of the couch.

"Got food cookin' and sent Wash to find something to get those chains off. You three be all right here for a bit if I go try an' find a few things to make you more comfortable? I'll snag the good Doc while I'm at it."

"Yes, thank you. Honestly, just sitting on a real chair is fulfilling all my wildest dreams at the moment," Dylan answered with a tired smile.

"Got chairs aplenty, so feel free to try 'em all should you be inclined," Mal returned, smiling back. "Shepherd here will keep ya company while he cooks, so holler at him if you need anything."

As he walked away, he heard Harper mutter to his friend, "Dylan, you really need better dreams. Chairs are so last week." Mal nearly choked as he bit back a loud laugh, totally surprised. He hadn't been sure the boy had enough life left in him to smile, let alone crack a joke, but there he showed the colors of a true comedian. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be okay…

00000

The soft material of the couch felt foreign to Harper after nearly a year of sitting on the ground or their pathetic pile of straw in the prison camp. It was almost uncomfortable, making the engineer feel decidedly out of place, as if he no longer belonged in a world with soft, warm, comfortable things. It didn't help that he was feeling acutely helpless and isolated in this strange, new environment surrounded by complete strangers he couldn't even see. Of course, he also lacked the energy to really worry much about that. His body was too week from starvation, pain, and the sickness that gripped his lungs and got a little worse each day. He simply sagged limply back into the softness, riding through the coughs and listening to the dark void around him, trying not to let his discomfort show.

Twig snuggled up tightly next to him, gripping his good hand and reminding Harper that the little boy must be feeling the same way. For him, the slave camp had been his home and whole world for as long as he could remember. To suddenly find himself on a strange ship full of people he didn't know… He was terrified to say the least, and at the same time, a little in awe. Harper squeezed his hand reassuringly, even though he himself was feeling anything but confident, and didn't mention the fact that his snuggling was sending spikes of pain up and down his ravished back.

"You two doing okay?" Dylan asked quietly a few seconds later. "Harper, are you in too much pain?"

"Feeling a little out of the loop and in the dark," Harper replied, "but the pain's no worse than it has been for…forever. I'll live a few more hours." He couldn't hold back the coughing fit that followed his words, and he could practically hear Dylan frowning as he rode it out.

"That cough is getting worse," the captain said worriedly.

"Yeah," he answered simply. There was nothing else to say. He knew Dylan was worried, and knew just as well that there wasn't a thing either of them could do about it. Either this doctor they had yet to meet would be able to help him, or he wouldn't, in which case he would hang around as long as he could while they all tried to pretend the inevitable wasn't happening, just like they had with Simon before he died. Such was the way of their lives now.

"So, what's this place like?" Harper asked after a few moments of heavy silence, truly wanting to know and trying to change the subject all at once. For the next several minutes, he listened quietly as Dylan described their surroundings, everything from what the ship had looked like on the outside as they entered, to the bright walls with painted flowers of the room they were in that held a table complete with mismatched chairs. What he heard reminded him of the _Maru_ , a small ship that doubled as a home for a crew more like family, and he felt a sharp pain of acute homesickness, suddenly wishing with all his might that he was back on that scrapheap of a ship with Beka sitting next to him. Quickly, he closed his blind eyes and turned away, not wanting Dylan to see the tears that threatened to spill out of them. Instead, he concentrated on listening to the captain's running commentary. It was important, after all. If he was going to be staying on this ship, whether it was forced or by choice, he needed to know what his surroundings were like at least. And despite the kindness and understanding these people had shown them so far, he still wasn't ready to accept that they meant it and there was no trick in store. He'd been through too much agony and hurt to be that trusting again so soon.

00000

As he talked to Harper, describing their surroundings in as much detail as he could, Dylan watched his former engineer with deep worry. The young man was so thin and so sick and still had so many lingering wounds and injuries from slavery that the captain truly marveled he was still alive, and at the same time lived in constant panic that today, maybe this hour or the next, might be the one he simply couldn't go on anymore.

And then there was Twig. Dylan didn't at all regret his decision to take the little boy with them on their flight from the camp, but he did feel slightly bad for the havoc it wrecked in the small slave's life. His trust in Dylan and especially Harper was so complete he never questioned them when they told him to come and stay quiet, but the slave camp had been his whole world for so long and suddenly he was thrown out into a strange, new one complete with totally different terrors. He had no idea how to react. Right now, for example. He was practically sitting on Harper, clutching his better hand so tightly Dylan knew it had to be hurting the engineer badly, all while staring out at his surroundings with bright, terrified but curious eyes. Dylan looked at the two "kids" and sighed quietly, wondering exactly when he'd agreed to take on the role of father, and how any listening deity could have ever thought him qualified.

Soon, the aroma of cooking food started to fill the small galley, emanating from the stove where the older, black man the captain had referred to as a preacher was working. After months and months of hard, moldy bread, rancid, watery soup, or cold, tasteless gruel, the wonderful smell reawakened long buried hunger pangs. His shrunken stomach growled painfully at the thought of real, good food, and he was pretty sure Harper's was doing the same. Twig stared at the man cooking, a look of deep confusion on his face, as if he couldn't understand what he was smelling or why it made him even hungrier than he always was.

The preacher noticed the little slave's scrutiny and turned, smiling kindly.

"Would you like to come help me?" he asked in a low, gentle voice.

Twig started and huddled back against Harper for a moment before taking a deep breath and climbing to his feet, his eyes wide and scared as contrasting emotions warred across his face. Dylan could tell he _was_ curious, but he really didn't want to leave Harper and him. But on the other hand, the boy wasn't sure if this was a request or an order he had to obey. Not obeying his masters' orders brought punishment and pain, and the captain could see the confusion and uncertainty on the young boy's face.

Before Dylan could intervene, however, the other man saw the fear and realized how his words had been interpreted by the little slave. His eyes softened with sadness and he spoke quickly. "It's okay, you don't have to. Why don't you just stay with your friends for now and if you feel like coming over later, you can help me then."

Stunned gratitude flashed across Twig's dirty face, and he sank back onto the couch, gripping Harper's hand once more. Dylan mouthed a silent "thank you" to the other man as he reached out and gently squeezed Twig's spindly arm, offering what reassurance he could. He didn't say anything more because the kind-hearted man with the reddish-blond hair who'd been one of the ones who found them – "Wash" Captain Reynolds had called him – came back in, lugging a bundle of various equipment. He pasted on a smile as he approached, snagging a chair with his foot and dragging it over, but the smile didn't quite take away the sadness and pity in his eyes that grew every time he looked at them, especially at Twig or Harper. He dumped his load unceremoniously on the small coffee table in front of the couch and sat heavily in the chair, wiping his hands down the sides of the almost painfully bright Hawaiian shirt he wore.

 _Harper used to wear shirts like that_ , Dylan remembered with a pang of regret. But he hadn't for a long time, and not just because of this whole sold into slavery nightmare. No, Harper hadn't worn his bright shirts or bounced and jumped through the ship like a mad, hyper monkey since…well, since the Magog infestation that had almost taken his life. That experience had changed him, but Dylan had been too busy to notice, something he deeply regretted now. This kind, softhearted rescuer reminded Dylan sharply of the happy-go-lucky engineer he used to think he knew. Maybe, just maybe, given today's miracle, Dylan could help Harper come back somehow, if that was even possible given everything that had been done to him and all the things that had been taken away…

"So," the brightly clad man started talking, his voice purposefully cheerful, although Dylan suspected that most of the time that cheerfulness came naturally and didn't have to be forced around pity. "Bet you'd probably like to lose the twenty pounds or so of metal you guys are sporting right now. Takeoff's gonna be hard enough as it is, don't need the extra weight, so the captain says it has to go. Any objections?"

Harper, who had almost lost his battle with exhaustion and hunger and was slumped back against the couch, eyes closed as he listened to the people around him, gave a small, weary sigh. "All I can say is, it's about freakin' time," he muttered tiredly without opening his eyes.

"Amen," Dylan agreed fervently. "I'm more than ready to be rid of these chains."

"Figured as much," the man said, still finding it difficult to hide the sorrow in his eyes. "Good for you, today's your lucky day," he smiled for real this time, leaning forward to pick up the first tool from his pile. "Hello, my name's Wash, and I will be your local handy-dandy blacksmith for the day, our real blacksmith being…well…non-existent, really. Anyway, gonna get those things off of you if it kills me, which hopefully it won't. Problem is, we don't really have much call for removing chains here on _Serenity_ so I must admit I'm kinda wingin' this, hence the oh-so-rather-large pile of equipment. Figured we'd start small and move up from there if we have to." He brandished the set of large bolt-cutters he held in his hand and asked brightly, "Who's first?"

Dylan opened his mouth to suggest that he go first, since this whole removal thing was gonna be experimental for a while, but Harper unknowingly cut him off.

"Can I go first, Boss?" Harper asked, displaying some life for the first time in a long while. "You know those dreams about chairs you mentioned having? Well, this is one of my dreams…"

Dylan relented. How could he not in the face of that?

"All right," Wash said, "How about I start with the ones around your ankles?"

"Have at it," Harper agreed, extending his feet as he tried to smother a coughing fit. Wash guided them so they rested on the top of the coffee table where he could access the chains easier, trying desperately not to tear up again at the sight of the bare, mangled limbs. He glanced at Dylan with open heartbreak in his eyes, and all Dylan could do was sigh and nod. He knew exactly how the other man felt; he'd just had almost a year to get used to it.

 **Author's Note:**

I'm so sorry for the wait on this. I still have quite a bit already written, but this school year has turned out to be the hardest of my entire teaching career. So many real life problems have shoved their way into my time that I basically set my writing aside in August and haven't had time to touch it since. And honestly, things haven't gotten any better or calmed down, but I'm to the point of needing some kind of "me time" or I'm gonna crack, so I'm forcefully taking back my writing. I might be slow for a while, but I will be back.

Thanks again to anyone who is reading this. I hope you enjoy it, even with a few characters you might not recognize. If you like it, I'd love to know about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

As gently as he possibly could, Wash eased the shackle up the young man's leg, studying it and the skin underneath. He was once again shocked; his understanding of the depths of cruelty people could sink to expanding even more as he took in the sight. The chains had appeared horrible and uncomfortable before, but looking at them this closely he could see in ghastly detail the damage they'd caused. With sickening clarity he realized that these chains had been in place for a long, long time. What skin hadn't been rubbed away underneath the metal ring was permanently bruised, and the whole ankle was ringed with open, oozing sores. Wash fought the urge to run for the sink and puke up his lunch.

"Okay," he said after a moment, trying hard to control his voice. "Someone really didn't like you when they put these things on." He gently turned the shackle around to inspect all sides of it. "They're mighty solid and I can't even find a lock to try and pick. What did they do, weld them closed?"

"Pretty much," said Harper wearily, trying not to wince as the other man worked. "And you won't find the lock. It's microscopic."

Wash swore softly. "And I was all excited to test my vast criminal skills in lock-picking."

Harper actually cracked a smile at that. "Know a thing or two about that, actually. We'll have to talk later…"

The pilot raised his eyebrows, sparing a glance at Dylan again, this time with apprehensive amazement. Dylan just shrugged his shoulders, rolling his eyes and indicating this wasn't a surprise.

"Um…okay. I'll…um…consider that. Anyway, gonna start with these bolt-cutters," he explained carefully, remembering that the young man he was helping couldn't see what was going on. If he were in that lousy situation he'd want someone telling him what they were about to do. "I'll try to be as gentle as I can, but this still might hurt a bit."

"Fine," the young man replied with resignation. "I don't really care so much as long as they come off."

"Right, so moving on with the coming off," Wash said quickly. Gently, he slid the bolt-cutters under the first cuff, grimacing in sympathy for the young man wearing it, then standing so he could get better leverage, he pushed the handles together. The metal cuff twisted roughly between the blades, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from Harper as it dug into his skin, but otherwise it stayed perfectly whole and unmarked.

"Sorry!" Wash apologized quickly, dropping the tool. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," the boy replied through clenched teeth. "Just keep going."

Almost reluctantly, Wash picked the cutters back up and slid them into place, cursing the monsters who had put the chains on in the first place, making this cruelty on his part necessary.

Ten minutes later, Wash wasn't the only one cursing.

"Gah, stop!" cried Harper weakly, unable to hold it in any longer as he unconsciously drew his feet back. "Look, I know you're being as careful as you possibly can, but I'm starting to think I just might like to keep these chains," he muttered.

"I'm starting to think you just might get to!" replied Wash, frustrated and upset because everything he did only seemed to cause more pain and not get them anywhere.

"You should have let me go first!" Dylan threw in from where he sat holding Twig, the boy's head buried in his shoulder so he wouldn't have to watch.

"How's it goin' in here, boys?" Mal's voice caused Wash to look up as the captain entered the room again, a bundle of various clothing in his arms.

"Sorta like a submarine with a screen door. In other words, not so well," the pilot sighed, gesturing helplessly to the two men sitting on the couch, chains still very much attached to them. "Can't cut them off, can't file them off, can't pick the lock… Running out of options here."

"You try a blowtorch yet?" asked Mal, dropping the clothes on the table before stepping up to them.

"No!" cried Wash and Dylan in unison, both envisioning heat-conductive metal, tender skin, and steady flames.

"Kidding! I was kidding!" said Mal quickly, hands raised.

"You know that might work…" Harper mumbled quietly, his pain and exhaustion showing through.

"Absolutely not!" cried Dylan, rounding on his friend as Wash and Mal gaped opened mouthed.

"Did he not hear the part about me kidding?" Mal whispered to Wash, who simply shrugged, eyes wide and surprised.

"No, no," the young man added, shaking his head tiredly. "I don't really mean an actual blowtorch. I'm just saying, _we_ can't cut through the metal; we need something that will do it for us, beautiful, uber-strong androids being missing and all. Blowtorch would do it with heat, which probably wouldn't feel so good, but just find something that would do it by a method less painful."

A light had gone on in Wash's head as Harper was speaking, and he barely let the boy finish his sentence before jumping to his feet. "Know exactly what you're talking about here. In fact, I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. Be right back!"

00000

Mal watched his pilot race from the room without explanation and couldn't help thinking for the one millionth time that he didn't always understand that man. "You know," he said after a moment, shaking his head, "I sometimes wish that man came with a handbook. Would make life a good gorram bit easier."

The other captain chuckled. "I know exactly what you mean," he said companionably, nodding surreptitiously at the young man sitting next to him whose eyes were closed again in exhaustion. Mal followed his gaze and frowned, deep pity stirring once more in his gut.

"Doc will be here shortly," he told the other captain.

"Thank you," said Dylan fervently, pulling little Twig closer to his side.

"Also got some clothes here," Mal continued. "Nothing fancy, and probably on the largish side for the young ones, but it's all clean and mended. Soon as Wash gets those chains off, shower's all yours. Only good thing about being stuck planetside is the water supply is unlimited, so take your time. Doc will do better healing if he can actually see the hurts without the grime." He waited long enough to see Dylan nod, then turned to the Shepherd. "Preacher?" he asked. "How's that food comin' along?"

"It's ready whenever you are."

"Good. Chains or not, think our guests are needin' that food. Wanna set it out –"

He cut his words off abruptly as Wash ran back in, panting slightly.

"Got it!" the pilot cried triumphantly, waving a medium-sized contraption proudly as he reclaimed his seat in front of Harper and the others. The young man was coughing weakly again, his eyes squeezed shut and his shoulders hunched painfully. He was completely unaware of the worried and concerned looks everyone else in the room was sending him.

Wash glanced hesitantly at Mal, who nodded grimly.

"Best get those off then, Wash, so the doc can take a crack at our new friends. Sooner the better, I'm thinkin'."

"Right," said Wash, and Mal saw once again the deep sadness in his eyes. The pilot gently took the boy's abused feet once more and stretched them out, giving him easy access to the chains attached to his ankles. "Let's see if this works."

"What did you get?" the young man rasped, his voice weak and raw.

"This sweet little concoction will eat right through most metals. Has come in handy on some of our more…um…creative jobs. Anyway, could kick myself for not thinking of it earlier, but it should make quick work of these wretched things."

"Will it eat through skin, too?" Dylan asked with worry.

"Well, yeah, probably, which is why I'm gonna be extremely careful."

"Don't care if it eats my feet right off, as long as the chains come off with them," Harper muttered. "Not like they're much good now, anyway."

"Um…how 'bout we go for the me being careful plan first," Wash said with a grimace. "Not fond of cleaning up body parts."

"'K," the boy replied tiredly.

Standing back slightly to be out of the way, Mal watched as Wash pulled on one of the metal cuffs with utmost care, putting as much empty space as possible between it and the boy's ravaged skin, and then squeezed out just a tiny bit of the hazardous substance in a line down it. Small strands of white smoke instantly appeared as the gel ate into the metal, the line sinking into the cuff itself. In less than a minute, the shackle had a clean break all the way through.

"Yes!" Wash cheered, a huge grin splitting his face.

One minute and another careful cut later and the shackle fell off entirely, cut cleanly in half.

"Thank the Vedran Empress," the young man said fervently, pulling his freed foot back away from the other. "Been almost a year since those freakin' chains were put on."

 _A year?_ Mal couldn't help thinking in awe. Who in their right mind kept people in chains for that long? It made him furious to even think about.

Wash quickly released the other leg, spurred on by the horrible injuries he was exposing, leaving the ankle chains dangling free and only connected to Harper by the chain running from them to the thick metal ring circling his terribly thin middle.

"Waist next," the pilot explained, trying to keep the blind boy informed. Harper wearily sat up and scooted forward, letting Wash help him move so he was sitting on the coffee table in a more accessible position. Mal could tell he was trying hard not to flinch or cringe as Wash handled the large metal ring around his waist.

This one was thicker and stronger. Mal stepped up to help Wash keep it in place while he worked. It took more than one application of the chemical goo and several minutes to cut through it, during which time they both got more up-close-and-personal views of the varied injuries and scars covering the young man's back and chest than they ever wanted. It made him physically sick, but he swallowed thickly and forced himself to keep going, knowing it was at least one way he could help the poor boy. Finally, the metal gave under the chemical's assault and the ring fell away, releasing about ten pounds of heavy chains into a pile on the floor. Wash and Harper both sighed in unison.

"Thank you," said Harper, deep gratitude in his voice as he sagged in relief.

"Honestly, it's my pleasure," said Wash. "All right, let's do the hands next."

Obediently, Harper held out his bound hands, but he honestly couldn't keep back a sharp cry of pain as Wash took them. The kind-hearted pilot instantly loosened his grip, and Mal leaned in to examine the damaged limbs closer. The fingers of the left one were discolored and stiff, curled uselessly in toward the middle like deformed claws. Ragged, dirty strips of cloth wrapped around the rest of it, but they did little to hide its grotesqueness.

"What happened?" asked Wash softly, trying to be as gentle as he possibly could.

"It got smashed," Harper replied dully, gritting his teeth in spite of Wash's efforts.

"How?" Mal asked.

"The first or the second time?" the boy returned tiredly.

Mal's eyes opened wide in shock. He glanced at Dylan, but the other captain had his head bowed, something very much akin to failure written across face. Beside him, Wash faltered for a moment, nearly dropping the chemical dispenser as he glanced up.

" _Twice?"_ his friend mouthed at him, astonished. Mal didn't answer him, instead answering Harper.

"Um…both?"

"Second time one of our masters smashed it with a club as punishment." Harper didn't elaborate, but Mal and Wash both saw Dylan turn his face away – anger, shame, and guilt showing in his expression.

"And the first?" Mal prompted.

The boy's voice was soft and resigned when he answered. "I was crucified."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"I was crucified."

The silence that filled the galley after those quiet, matter-of-fact words was deafening. It sat heavy with horror, like a waiting menace, until suddenly the tool Wash was holding clattered to the ground, shattering it all.

Mal uttered a loud string of curses in Chinese as beside him all color vanished from Wash's face. Reavers…slavers…torturers…barbaric scientists… He'd come into contact with most of the deepest evils of this 'Verse, and with that contact came a certain numbness, familiarity even. But in the utterance of three simple words, he had found something that made his heart stop. As though he'd been struck by a physical blow, Mal sank weakly down onto the arm of the sofa. He drew a deep breath, what seemed like the first in hours, as he found himself confronted with the blind eyes of a young man who had suffered more than even he could fathom.

"Don't – don't folk die from that?" he asked, his voice rougher and harsher than he meant as he worked through his shock, but at least he managed to get something out. Next to him, Wash was leaning with his fists on his knees, breathing heavily with his eyes squeezed shut, and Mal could tell he was on the edge of passing out. Book had turned away and had his head bowed, his face buried in his hands.

"If they're lucky," said Harper quietly.

Mal shook his head, unable to reply. There were no words he could find to express himself, no way to look the blind kid in the eye and let him see the horror and compassion he was feeling, not even the ability to reach out and touch him without causing more pain. He looked helplessly at Dylan and saw his emotions returned, reflected in the heartbroken eyes of the chained captain who had been forced to watch and accept everything his friend had suffered.

Still, he had to say something. The silence was becoming deafening. "I got nothin' that can make any of this better, undo the past," he said softly to Harper. "Just words of sorrow and anger, which don't mean much of anything at all. But, I promise you, it's over. We'll treat you, protect you, and I'll do everything in my very limited power to help, to fix what I can."

Harper nodded slightly, acknowledging Mal's comments, but made no move to speak.

"Words actually mean more than you think right now," Dylan said sincerely, speaking for both of them. "Especially kind ones. It's been a long time since anyone cared enough to offer them, so thank you."

Mal nodded, but still felt his few words were pitiful consolation to the young man sitting before him. There wasn't much else he could offer, however, except to make good on his promise to take care of them from here on out.

"Wash," he said gently to the man who was still bent over, white-faced and trembling. He placed a light hand on the pilot's back. "Got a task to finish here, people counting on you to do it…"

The pilot looked up, absolute anguish etched on his face. "Mal, I –" he whispered, swallowing harshly and fighting obvious nausea. "I can't –"

"Can and will, Wash," Mal replied kindly but firmly. "Can't do anything else to help these folks until you finish up here."

Wash closed his eyes tightly and for several moments there was absolute silence. Then he finally gulped strongly and nodded, and when he opened them again they were bright with barely restrained tears. "Okay," he said thickly, picking up tool that had dropped to the deck.

His normally steady hands were shaking badly as he reached for the boy's wrists once more, and Mal could tell he was fighting to keep his vision from blurring with the tears. He tried to use extreme tenderness and care, but he couldn't control his shaking limbs. Harper didn't utter a word as Wash removed the first cuff, this time the cuts wobbly and far from neat, but when the pilot caught a glimpse of the blackened, ruined skin underneath the trembling increased so much that Harper let out an involuntary whimper. Wash blanched again.

"Mal," he said, swallowing thickly and gently lowering the young man's hands. "I can't. I'm…I'm just hurting him more. I know I'm going way down in the manly courage scale right now, but I can't finish this. Not and not hurt him, or not pass out."

One glance at his normally cheerful pilot told Mal that this time he was not exaggerating. He really did look like he was hanging onto consciousness – and his lunch – by a thread. The man was obviously in shock, the horror of what he'd just seen and heard too much for his kind, caring nature to process. Mal nodded and Wash scooted over, giving the captain his place as he handed over the chemical dispenser. No one mentioned the fact that he was not nearly as fast or precise as Wash had been as he carefully finished removing the restrictive chains, trying not to look at the abused wrists he found underneath. Somberly, he added the manacles to the growing pile of chains on the floor, then turned back to study the last piece of offending metal, the collar around the boy's neck. He frowned as he noticed something for the first time.

"This got writing on it?" he asked quietly, the atmosphere of the galley still extremely subdued.

"Yeah," Harper replied tiredly. "It's kinda like a built in wanted ad, just in case of situations like this so folks like you can know that I'm a runaway and who to return me to for punishment, should you be inclined. Although I'm really hoping we can skip that part."

"Not even considerin' it," Mal told them fervidly, fingering the collar and trying to figure out how to get it off while causing the least discomfort.

"Metal looks slightly different," he observed.

"I…um…wouldn't know," the boy said softly, and Mal mentally kicked himself.

"Right, well…done enough lookin' at it. How 'bout we get it off ya?"

"Please."

Awkwardly, because of its position around the boy's neck, Mal applied the chemical only to curse as it rolled harmlessly off the metal ring. He grabbed hurriedly for one of the rags Wash had lying around and mopped it up before it hit the exposed skin of the kid's neck.

He groused softly. "This ain't working. Metal seems to be repelling our miraculous chain-dissolving potion."

"Figures," the young man sighed. "Look, just leave it. Dylan needs his turn and if the stuff is just rolling off, like you said, it's gonna take more than a little chemical to get the slave collar off anyway. I'll have to think about it for a bit, but if worst comes to worst, it's not gonna kill me if it has to stay."

 _No_ , Mal thought, glancing sadly at the young man and reading the shame and disappointment he was trying valiantly to hide from his words, _it won't kill you. But you'll still feel like a slave until it's gone._ Still, there wasn't much he could do at the moment, so he nodded.

"'K, but don't give up yet. We'll just have to worry about it later. All right, Captain, your turn."

Dylan shifted Twig over to Harper, who was slowly testing his new physical freedom, stretching his arms and legs out little by little, a look of pure gratitude on his face. Getting the hang of what he was doing, Mal made much better time releasing the older man from his bonds, and soon his chains joined Harper's in a heavy pile on the floor. Dylan's wrists looked every bit as bad as Harper's, but his boots had protected his ankles from the most severe chafing and bruising.

"Thank you. You have _no_ idea how nice it is to have those off!" Dylan breathed, unable to resist stretching slightly just as Harper had done. "Thank you," he reiterated to both Mal and Wash, who was starting to look a little less pale.

If Wash was starting to look less like he was about to pass out, Harper was looking closer to an all-out collapse every second. When they came, his coughs shook his whole frame, and when he had a moment's respite from them, he sagged brokenly back against the couch, pale and sweaty and limp. Not for the first time in the last several minutes, Mal wondered where their esteemed doctor was and why he was taking so long to put in an appearance. They were going to have to review the definition of "post haste" in the not too distant future.

"Mal?" Shepherd Book startled the captain out of his troubled observations, stepping up next to him. "This food isn't going to remain hot for much longer, and from the looks of this young man, he's rapidly losing his ability to stay upright long enough to eat it."

"Right," said Mal, all business once again. "Got food on the table for ya, if you're interested," he told Dylan.

"More than interested," the other man said gratefully.

Next to Mal, Wash shook his head and forced himself to swallow harshly, then stepped up to Twig. "Hey, little guy," he said holding his hand out. "Why don't you give me your hand and I'll help you stack enough pillows up on the chair that you can actually reach the table. Sound like a deal?"

For a moment Twig just stared at the offered hand. Then he looked quickly at the battered engineer.

"Harper?" he said, as if asking for permission.

"Go on, kiddo," Harper said quietly. "It's okay."

Trusting his friend, Twig shyly stretched out his hand and placed it in Wash's. The pilot led the little boy over to the table and started helping him settle in. Dylan climbed wearily to his own feet, then turned to help Harper who had made no effort to move. Mal stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"I'll get him. You go eat."

Knowing he was ready to fall over himself and not really in any shape to help the young man, Dylan reluctantly nodded. Mal stepped forward once again and carefully eased Harper into his arms. This time, the boy didn't protest, but Mal still saw the bright flush of shame that colored his face and it tugged at the captain's heart.

"One Shepherd inspired, gourmet meal coming right up," he said, placing the boy gently in a chair at the table.

"I warn you," Harper croaked out, a self-depreciating half-smile on his face even as he fought to stay upright. "The chains might be gone, but you are about to witness the spectacle that is Seamus Harper trying to feed himself." He gave a little rueful scoff, holding up his crippled hand as his blind eyes drifted lazily. "It ain't pretty."

"Watch Jayne eat all the time," Mal countered, recognizing the humor as an attempt to hide embarrassment. "Sure we'll be fine."

The Shepherd had cooked rice and then made a mild gravy out of protein to go over it, along with a side of relatively fresh bread made from real grain. Mal and Wash watched silently and sadly as Dylan described the meal to Harper and warned the two young people not to eat too fast.

"When was the last time you folks had any real food?" Mal asked, thinking Simon would probably want to know anyway, if he ever managed to get his doctor behind down there.

"The last so called meal we ate was probably three or four days ago," Dylan answered.

"But if you're talking real food…" Harper cut in around a mouthful. He'd bypassed the utensils, unable to deal with the complicated chopsticks, and just started using his fingers. "I'd have to say it was that pizza we shared on the _Maru_ all those months ago before all this started."

Twig had also opted for the five-finger approach to eating, shoveling the food into his mouth with a look of absolute amazement on his face.

"Hey, slow down, little guy," Wash urged, worried he'd choke or make himself sick. "There's plenty more if you want it. You don't have to eat it so fast."

"It tastes good," the child said in awe.

"Glad you like it," Book said gently. "But Wash is right. If you eat too fast, you'll get sick, and that won't be fun at all, will it?"

Reluctantly, Twig nodded and slowed his consumption of food, but only a little.

Deciding he'd more than exceeded normal parameters for patience, Mal strode over to the intercom while his passengers ate.

"Doc," he pushed the button and growled into the speaker, "not sure what meanin' you kenned from 'want you in the galley pronto' but where I come from that usually means bein' rather quick like."

"I'm sorry, Mal," Simon's voice floated back, sounding breathless like he was fighting someone. There was a clatter in the background followed by an ear-piercing scream. "River's…having a moment… Be there as soon as I can."

The captain sighed as the intercom cut off and ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath in Chinese. Fugitives…runaway slaves…moonbrained crazy girls…ship eating planets… _Why did everything have to happen to him? Couldn't he just have a nice, normal day for once in his life? Was that really too much to ask?_

"Problems?" Dylan asked him, looking up from his meal with sympathy in his eyes.

"Oh, yeah. But nothing you need to be worryin' about. Just finish your meal an' let's get you cleaned up. Doc'll be with us soon as he can."

The sound of stomping boots approaching caused everyone to look up, Harper and Twig with open fear on their faces and Dylan with apprehension.

"Whew-iiee!" Jayne cried as he entered the room, wrinkling his nose up. "What died in here, Mal? You haulin' corpses –" He broke off abruptly as he noticed the three slaves sitting at the table, staring at him. "Who's them?"

" _Them_ are people, Jayne," Wash said, rolling his eyes in disgust. Mal shot his pilot a warning look.

"Passengers," Mal said, daring Jayne to object.

He did. "Passengers!" he scoffed. "Look more like trash to me!" His eyes scanned the room, taking in the rags, the pile of abandoned chains, the skeletal frames and open, festering wounds before narrowing. "These more fugitives? Got enough 'a them onboard already; I ain't paid enough to put up with no more, Mal!"

"An' last time I checked," Mal retorted, his voice cold as ice, "I was still the captain of this here boat. Now, you got exactly five seconds to walk out of this room before I give you reason to need more than just a few stitches."

Jayne, never one to know what was best for him when it came to Mal's moods, ignored him, instead walking closer to where Harper was sitting at the table, studying the young man intently and even going so far as to poke him in the shoulder. The young man jumped a mile, flinching away. "Or…I know," Jayne continued. "They's runaways, ain't they. Slaves. Somebody owns 'em, an' I'm bettin' we could get good money fer returnin' 'em. Don't tell me we ain't needin' the coin, Mal."

Twig, who'd been cowering in his seat from the moment Jayne stalked in, suddenly broke into sobs. Harper reached blindly for his hand trying not to show his own fear and Dylan climbed carefully to his feet, placing himself between Jayne and his two charges, but Mal moved before he could say anything.

Rage and frustration burning through him, Mal found his fist connecting with Jayne's jaw before he'd really even processed what he was doing. The mercenary went down hard, staring at him first in shock, then in growing anger.

"Mal –"

"Get up!" Mal interrupted, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Mal, they's money in the bank! An' we ain't got room 'er food fer 'em anyway!" Jayne growled climbing to his feet, his own eyes flashing.

"I thought we learned this lesson once," Mal seethed as he advanced on the man again, the five other people in the room watching forgotten. "Thought an open airlock an' a quick climb out 'a atmo was enough to get it through your thick skull! Well, Jayne, I ain't kidding this time. You leave this room now under your own power, or you leave it on one 'a the Doc's stretchers."

"Mal…" Jayne tried again, still hoping to get the delusional man to see monetary reason.

His pistol left its holster in one swift motion, his gaze never faltering as he aimed, totally focused and calm. Wash gulped and Book took a step toward the captain, hand outstretched. "Now son, no need for that…"

He ignored them both.

"All right, all right!" Jayne cried, raising his hands quickly, real fear sweeping across his face. Hastily, he turned and left, heading in the direction of the cargo bay and the weight set.

It was almost a full minute before anyone dared breathe. Finally, Mal replaced the gun and the whole room let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Well," said Wash, his voice oddly shaky. "That was…wacky fun." He ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair nervously. "And now that we're all thoroughly scared out of our wits, how about we get back to the eating and the bathing?"

Twig was still sobbing slightly, Dylan standing next to him. "We are never going back there," Dylan said grimly, looking Mal right in the eye. "And I won't put Harper and Twig at risk by staying somewhere that I'm not one hundred percent certain they're safe, food and medical assistance notwithstanding."

"You're safe here," Mal answered firmly. He still didn't know exactly why, but there was something inside of him saying he needed to help these people. And Jayne could learn to live with that, or find a new boat to ship on.

The two captains held each other's gaze for a long, long time until something passed between them, an unspoken understanding or agreement. Finally, Dylan nodded and broke the contact, turning his attention back to his friends.

"Sh, Twig. It's gonna be okay, I promise," the other man soothed. "We're safe. Now finish your dinner. You too, Harper."

"Suddenly not all that hungry, Boss," Harper muttered weakly.

Twig's food was already gone, and Mal could tell Dylan's appetite for what little was left on his plate was lost after the tense confrontation. Harper…well…Harper hadn't really eaten much to begin with, too sick and in pain to feel like eating, even though he was practically starved

Dylan sighed wearily and turned back to him. "How about those showers then?"

 **Author's Note:**

Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed. It is always so nice to know if people are enjoying what I write. Makes it much easier to continue.

Also, for those of you who may be curious, the parent story of this fic, Waiting for the Light has also been updated in the last week.

Thanks again!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 **Author's Note:** A word on showers and _Serenity_ – I've read and researched a lot. Some sources say that given the need to conserve water on a ship in space, _Serenity_ has no showers. Others say they are there, just not used unless planetside near a source of water. And then that starts a whole new debate about where they are located if they are there – near the crew quarters? Near the passenger dorms? In both places?

For the sake of my sanity and because there was so much disparity in answers I decided to…erm…do it how I wanted for this fic. If that bothers you, sorry…sorta.

So, for this fic, _Serenity_ comes equipped with two small showers – one near the passenger dorm, and one just off the common room for the crew.

Now, on with the show.

00000

"You okay?"

Wash looked up as the captain's question broke the silence around them. They were standing outside of the small head that served _Serenity_ 's crew, waiting for their guests to emerge. Showers were a luxury not often allowed on a ship such as _Serenity_ , water being a precious and un-waste-able commodity, but seeing as how they were parked on a planet with a nice stream flowing not ten feet from their backdoor, Mal had decided it could be spared this time. Besides, if there was ever someone in need of a shower, their new passengers fit the bill.

"Yeah. Doin' better. Sorry I fell apart in there, it's just… I can't even comprehend…"

"Ain't a nice thing to see, is it?"

"No."

"Brings back unwanted memories, too, right?"

"Yeah, a little," Wash admitted reluctantly, wondering when Mal got so darn perceptive.

"Me too," the other man agreed, turning his face away slightly.

"Think they'll be okay?" Wash asked after a moment.

"Do everything we can to help out, then just take it from there."

A few seconds later the door of the little room opened and their guests stepped out - clean shaven, smelling better, looking cleaner, but extremely weary and not a little sheepish in their borrowed clothes.

Showers had turned out to be a mixed blessing. While it was a great and wonderful thing for them to be clean, getting to that state was almost not worth the effort. Twig had never seen a shower and had to be convinced it was safe before he would even get in, and then they had to walk him through what to do once he'd ventured into the water. Harper was too sick and weak to enjoy it, but there was no way he was giving up his chance to wash a year's worth of slavery off his skin. He emerged totally exhausted, clinging to Dylan just to stay upright on his tattered feet.

"Jayne know those are gone?" Wash asked Mal, eyebrows raised as he glanced at the striped pajama pants Dylan was sporting along with a button down shirt of Mal's.

"Nope. Wouldn't advise tellin' him neither."

"Hey, I like living!" Wash said quickly, throwing up his hands. "Not sayin' a word."

Twig wore one of Mal's shirts as well, the sleeves rolled up at least a dozen times and the hem reached to his knees. Wash noted a pair of his own sweats on Harper, not fitting much better. The young man gripped one of his bright, floral shirts in his right hand but hadn't put it on.

"You can wear that, you know," he said kindly, trying not to look at the ugly, metal collar still locked around the young man's neck. He hesitated for moment then stepped forward to help support him.

"Hurts," Harper answered simply around a large fit of coughing. "Besides, just have to take it off."

"He's right about that," Mal added, shrugging. "Let's get you lot to the infirmary." He smiled at Twig and winked, offering him a free ride. The boy thought about it for a moment, then grinned. The captain was just swinging him up onto his shoulders when Simon burst in.

"Sorry I took so long, Mal. River was – Oh, good lord!" he sputtered to a stop in surprise, taking in the three newcomers, the mismatched clothes, their starved and abused bodies…

"Was just comin' ta see ya, Doc. Got some patients for ya."

"I…Mal… What were they doing?" he cried, shifting completely to doctor mode.

"Showering."

"Showering!" Simon exploded, looking around again at the three, eyes wide in shock. "You let them shower? Open, festering wounds and you stuck them in the shower?"

"Seemed like the thing to do," Mal shrugged. "Not like you were responding with all speed and haste to my attempts to get your doctorly input."

Simon stared at Mal again for a moment then ran his hands through his hair, muttering in Chinese. "Infirmary. Now, please," he finally articulated, his face still bathed in raw disbelief.

00000

"Here, breathe as deeply as you can. This will help to ease the tightness in your lungs and calm the coughs," Simon said, bringing the inhaler to his patient's mouth. The battered slave breathed in carefully, constricted lungs and a multitude of injuries making it difficult for him to take a full breath. Simon mentally shoved his outrage at what he was seeing before him to the side again, concentrating on providing the best and most humane care he could.

He was currently in the infirmary treating the most grievously injured of Mal's new passengers. The young man lay on his side on the medical bed in the center of the room, swathed in bandages and connected to several IV's and machines. Simon had buried Harper in blankets and done everything in his power to put him at ease and make him comfortable, but he still lay on the bed stiff and rigid, tensed with ill-hidden pain and fear. Simon knew that was a natural reaction given the new, unknown surroundings and what he'd been through, but he still wished he could somehow do more to provide comfort.

"Feel better?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Harper whispered roughly. "A little."

"Unfortunately, this won't stop the coughing completely. Only full treatment to send the disease into remission can do that, but we should be able to help keep it under control and bearable until then."

"Thanks."

"No thanks needed. I'm a doctor. It's what I do. Now, would you mind if I had a look at your eyes?"

Harper shook his head dully. Simon took that as a yes and brought a chair forward, sitting down. Carefully and ever so gently, Simon examined the blind man's eyes using several different instruments and asking a question now and then as he went. He fell silent after a while, letting his patient rest as he recorded the results and the information he'd just acquired.

"Simon?"

Surprised by the sudden break in the silence, the young doctor looked up from his notes to see Mal standing in the infirmary door, motioning for him to come outside. Simon nodded, telling the captain he'd be right there.

"Harper," he spoke softly to his patient lying tensely on the bed, hoping not to startle him. "I'm going to step out of the room for just a bit and close the door. Will you be all right in here alone?"

Harper's pulse quickened slightly at the thought of being alone, but he nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"You sure you don't want me to give you something to help you sleep better?"

"Naw," Harper answered, coughing slightly. "Never thought I'd say this about a med-bed, but this thing's soft enough I'm sure I'll get there on my own quick enough." His stiff, nervous posture belied his carefree words but Simon didn't say anything. "I'll dream of sparkly purple babes…" he added.

"All right, you um…do that," Simon answered, deciding not to ask. "I'll be back in a while and we're right outside if you need us."

"Thanks, Doc."

With one last look at the skeletal figure resting on his medical bed, Simon left the room, sliding the door closed behind him. Mal, Zoë, and surprisingly Wash, were waiting for him outside.

"Everyone settled in?" Simon asked.

"Yeah," Mal answered. "Got Captain Hunt and the little tike all fixed up cozy in one of the passenger dorms, with an understandin' they're not to wander about without askin', just to be safe. You sure they're fine to leave the infirmary?"

"In reality? Probably not. But this isn't the emergency ward on Osiris. I don't have room for them all in here and Harper needs it the most. The others are better off in a comfortable bed, and I can treat them just as well in the dorm."

"So, Doc, what's the news?" Mal asked, cutting through the small talk right to the heart of the issue.

Simon gave a weary sigh. "I'm amazed they're even alive. What they've been through… The starvation, injuries, torture. I don't know how they survived."

"The will to live can sometimes be more powerful than anything, Doctor," Zoë spoke softly. "Get you through things you shouldn't."

"Then that young man in there has more tenacity than anyone I've ever known because he should be dead. Five or six times over."

"Just give us the medical report on our guests, Doc, and leave the miracle speculatin' for the preacher."

"Fine. You might want to sit down, though," Simon added. "This could take a while."

Wash sank quietly into the sofa and Zoë moved slightly to stay near him, perching on its arm. Mal didn't budge, however, and gave Simon that look that said his patience was quickly wearing thin and to get on with it.

"All three of them are suffering from varying degrees of exhaustion, starvation, and exposure. Captain Hunt managed to hold up the best; his large stature and peak physical condition before all this started giving him a decided edge, as well as some modifications to his genetic makeup that he tried to explain to me but didn't make a lot of sense…"

"Doc," Mal warned slightly, letting him know this was not a time for verbosity.

"Given good food and time to rest, he'll be okay. The little boy – Twig – too, although the malnutrition is much more serious for him because of the length of time it's gone on. He does have a heart condition, as the others suspect. Apparently, he was given a drug that back-fired, causing heart palpitations that seriously overtaxed and weakened it. I can't fix the damage, but it can be monitored and medicated to the point it eventually shouldn't be too much of an issue." He paused for just a second, running a hand through his hair as he remembered the careful exam of the frightened child. "Would you believe I found scars from a whip all up and down that little boy's back?" he couldn't help adding in disgust and disbelief.

"Yes," Mal answered succinctly. Slavery was an ugly thing; he wouldn't gloss it over just to make Simon feel better. "Harper?" he asked, moving the conversation forward.

"Harper…" Simon sighed, deciding that maybe brevity wasn't such a bad route to take. "I cleaned and sutured his shredded feet, before putting a weave on them. If he stays off of them for a few days, they _should_ heal completely. His back is a different story, however. There was not enough real skin left to suture. All I could do was bandage it and keep feeding him the antibiotic cocktail for infection. It will

heal, but with extensive scaring."

"The coughing?" Mal pushed. "Is he sick?"

"Yes," Simon answered, blunt in his own right now. "Tuberculosis, but it's responding to treatment. It will take a little time, but eventually will go into remission. I'll be treating Captain Hunt and Twig for it as well, since they've almost assuredly been exposed and are in the early stages. And, I'm doing to have to inoculate the entire crew against it, just to be safe. I'll be scheduling updated vaccines for everyone this afternoon."

He half expected the captain to put in an objection, what with him issuing an order like that without consulting first, but surprisingly Mal just nodded, the hint of what might actually be approval in his expression.

"His hand?" Mal asked next.

"Actually both hands are crippled," Simon corrected, watching Mal's scowl darken with his words. "But Harper told me that while one was crushed multiple times and then left that way, someone actually attempted to fix the other. For various reasons, they were unable to do it completely, but at least he can use it. It functions, but not without causing him great pain. I think I can fix them both, but I'd prefer a little more time to study and prepare before I make that a promise."

He glanced back into the room to look at the young man lying stiffly on his side, an IV running into the back of his better hand and his body literally swathed in bandages, thinking of the agony that must have been endured as he accrued his collection of injuries.

"He tell ya how that happened?" Mal's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Yes," Simon answered softly, his expression dark. "I probably shouldn't be shocked or surprised, given what a group of supposedly sane people did to my own sister, but still. The levels of barbarity people will sink to never ceases to amaze me."

Mal didn't reply, just let the words drift into a solemn silence.

"But what about his sight?" Wash finally broke it impatiently, speaking up for the first time, his eyes bright with sadness at what he'd been hearing.

"Well, that is the million dollar question, isn't it?"

00000

"Knock, knock."

Dylan looked up from the child on the bed beside him at the whispered words to find Mal poking his head inside the doorway.

"Youngin' asleep?"

"Yes," Dylan whispered back, taking the time to run a gentle hand across the short-cropped hair of the sleeping boy.

"Good. Sure he needs it. An' bettin' you could probably use some rest as well," Mal said pointedly.

Dylan had to admit, he was feeling weary – bone weary. The shower, clean clothes, and soft bandages circling his abused wrists apparently couldn't hide that fact from those around him. Still, he couldn't rest yet.

"I'll sleep. In a while."

Mal nodded, slipping inside softly and pulling a chair over. "Just come from the doc's…"

"And?" Dylan was instantly on alert, fear and hope mixing as one in his voice.

"Apparently there's a little problem with Twig's heart, like you and Harper suspected. Can't really be fixed but can be treated Simon said, which should be just as good, so don't have to worry there. Simon's also got meds to treat Harper's cough. He's gonna be fine."

Dylan nodded, relief washing over his face, but he couldn't relax yet. "And his hands? His eyes?"

"Doc's not making any promises yet. He _thinks_ he can fix the hands given an operation or two, but he wants a few days to study up. Honestly, between you an me, an' don't you ever tell the boy I said this, I'm sure he can do it. The kid's a brilliant doctor. Not so bright in other areas, but if anyone can fix that young man's hands, Simon can."

"And the eyes?"

Mal sighed. "That's the not so good news. He can't fix them, too much damage and beyond his field of medicine. Says there might be a way out there somewhere, but I'm afraid fancy medical treatment in ritzy hospitals is a little beyond our means, Captain. Pains me to say it, but it's the truth nonetheless."

Dylan closed his eyes tightly trying not to let the emotions sneak out. He stayed that way for a long time, working his way through grief, guilt, and anger before he finally opened them again and looked back at Mal.

"Does Harper know?" he asked softly, glancing at Twig to ascertain that the boy was still sleeping.

"No. He's sleepin' now. Figured you could break it to him in the morning. Thought he'd want you to tell him."

"Thank you," Dylan said wearily. "And I do mean that. Thanks for everything you've done for us. You saved our lives."

"Hey, don't go thinkin' I'm a nice guy," Mal said with a fake scowl. "Soon as you guys get feelin' better, you're gonna be working off this passage! Cookin', cleanin', doin' my backlogged paperwork…"

Dylan gave him a smile to show he appreciated the attempt and normal humor, but they both knew it was a lie. The news he'd just received was too sobering.

"Get some rest," Mal said, teasing falling away. "We'll deal with it all in the morning."

He nodded, but in his heart he knew rest would be hard to come by this night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Mal?"

Mal stopped climbing the stairs at the sound of Inara's voice, turning to look at her instead.

"What's going on? First we make a rough, unscheduled landing, then Zoë asks me to keep River and Kaylee occupied all afternoon, and now I can't get my Cortex connection to work. It won't even turn on." She caught up to him and stopped, the silk of her dress still flowing distractingly around her. He forced his eyes to remain fixed on her beautiful face and not to drift anywhere else. "I had several clients lined up for when we made landfall tomorrow and now I can't even contact them to explain why I will be late."

 _The Cortex was down now as well?_ That was news to Mal and he let out a muttered string of colorful Chinese. This day was turning out all sorts of pretty.

"Mal?" Inara pressed, "That's not an answer to my question!"

"And I would give you an answer if I had one, but at the moment I ain't got a clue what's wrong with this ship. Got Kaylee n' Wash set to figurin' it out, so soon as I know, I'll pass it along." He waited for her to move, go back to her shuttle and her companion-y duties or whatever it was she did to keep herself busy, but she didn't budge.

"Was there something else?" he finally blurted.

"Yes. You can tell me exactly what's going on, because I know there's more than what you just said."

He opened his mouth, a snide comment about how he was the captain and he'd gorram tell her what he thought she needed to know on the tip of his tongue, but then he snapped it shut again. _Serenity_ was a small boat; it's not like she wasn't going to find out soon enough anyway. Besides, he might be doing himself a kindness if he gave her a bit of a warning before Simon came 'round tomorrow afternoon to stick a vaccination needle in her –

He shook his head to clear it.

"Don't know what caused the crazy burst of purple light that threw us so off course this planet rushed up out of nowhere and tried to kill us," he said, turning to lean against the stair railing and face her properly. "Don't know what's wrong with this boat, though the list of things that ain't workin' at the moment is getting long enough to seriously mess with my calm. But we did take on three new passengers after our little scouting excursion outside, and they ain't payin' customers, if you ken what I mean."

"More fugitives?" Inara asked incredulously, her delicate eyebrows climbing up toward her hairline.

His face darkened. "Slaves. Runaways. Have been to hell and back, near as I can tell. Two of 'em just kids." He held her gaze, daring her to object, but to his surprise, her face softened.

"Good for you! Those poor people!"

"Really?" he asked, stunned.

She shot him an annoyed glare. "We may not agree on politics, Mal, but I don't hold with slavery any more than you do, especially not of children."

"Oh," he answered eloquently.

"What can I do?"

"Line up nice an' cooperative-like tomorrow when Simon rounds the crew up for booster vaccine shots?" he suggested, throwing out what he hoped was his most charming grin. "Our new guests ain't exactly on the healthy spectrum of humanity at the moment."

Inara rolled her eyes. "Okay," she said, unable to hide a grin of her own. "Anything else? I mean, if we really are stuck here, and nothing in my shuttle is working, I might as well do something to stay busy."

Mal glanced at her warily. Things had been rocky between them for the last few months, stuck in a not-so-subtle dance around each other that vacillated between moments of shaky peace and volatile explosions. But this…this seemed almost, optimistic. Like Inara was offering a small olive branch, waiting to see if he would take it.

"You ever filled a ship's water reserve tank manually before?" he finally asked. He expected her to back-peddle at that, withdraw her offer. To his surprise, however, after a moment to process his words, she simply said, "Let me go change," and swished away.

"Huh," he said five minutes later when he managed to pick his sagging jaw up off the floor, still staring off at the place she had disappeared. _Yep, quite the day_.

00000

"Shouldn't be here."

The unexpected voice caused Wash to jerk harshly, cracking his head on the console he was buried underneath. He bit back the burst of obscenities as he slid out from where he was digging through the control wires, looking for something – _anything_ – that would explain why they were dead on this planet, unable to leave. River was sitting in the co-pilot's chair, her bare feet tucked up tight and her arms wrapped around her knees as she gazed out the viewscreen into the night.

"That's right, River," he said, pushing up off the floor. "You shouldn't be here. Remember what Mal said about coming onto the bridge?"

She glanced at him for just a moment, then returned her eyes to the planet beyond.

"She swam into the wrong ocean, and now the sharks are coming. They have very sharp teeth, you know."

"Right…" he said, running a grimy hand through his hair. Usually, he could tolerate River's bursts of crazy better than most on the ship, but today had been a very long, rather unpleasant day.

The girl turned from her inspection of the night, a sad expression on her face. "Stars in the sky, stars in the sea. Purple and gold, gold and purple. Sent us to save the little fish – pluck them from one ocean into another for a while. The universe is broken in too many places, need to fix them all. But, it won't work if the sharks get them."

"Well, you got one thing right, River," Wash said, sinking into the pilot's chair with a weary sigh. "Everything's broken and I can't figure out why."

She looked right at him then, with eyes that made him shudder slightly in their intensity. "When you don't know how to swim," she said bluntly, "you ask the fish."

00000

Harper was really enjoying this dream. He was lying on something soft, and he was wonderfully warm. The razor-sharp hunger pains were missing, and his ever-present pain level miraculously down around a two instead of blazing up at nine-point-five. He'd had a lot of dreams like this since becoming a slave, but this one was amazingly realistic, and he was reluctant to have it end. In fact, all that was needed to make it perfect was a pretty girl.

"Hey, there," said a friendly, _female_ voice from his side. He popped his eyes open in surprise but the darkness remained.

"No fair," he muttered.

"What's not fair?" she responded.

"In a dream this good, I should get to see," he grumbled.

"Ain't dreaming," the girl answered happily. "Right here on _Serenity_ ,in the infirmary."

Harper heard her, but unfortunately his sense of reality had been slightly skewed lately. "You sure? 'Cause soft bed and happy juice sure seems to spell dream to me…" In response he felt a small, warm hand slip gently into his less batted one. It was such a kind, spontaneous thing to do…it reminded him very much of the old Trance.

"You're not purple are you?" he whispered without thinking around the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Huh?" came the predictably confused reply.

"Never mind," he said, fighting back a cough that threatened to rise. His memories of the strange, overwhelming day before were starting to filter back into his drugged brain and with them came questions. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Kaylee," she answered simply, kindly. "Simon asked me to sit with ya so's you wouldn't wake up alone."

"And you're beautiful, right, Kaylee? Cause if this isn't a dream and I really am stuck in med-deck, or whatever you called it, if there's any justice in the universe I should at least get a beautiful nurse."

"She's very, very pretty," chimed in a vaguely familiar voice accompanied by footsteps entering the infirmary.

"Why thank you, Wash," the Kaylee-girl giggled.

 _Wash_ … Harper's groggy mind managed to connect the voice and name to the pilot who'd helped him the night before. "Wash. You're the guy who got those amazingly annoying chains off me, right?"

Before Wash could answer, Harper heard a surprised gasp of horror from Kaylee. "Chains? What..." her voice faltered. "Wash?" she asked quietly.

"Um - yes."

Harper heard the choked note in the pilot's voice. It threw him for a loop. How in the twisted, freaking universe had he wound up rescued by a bunch of _nice_ people for once?

"Oh," said the girl, her voice sounding faint and shocked. It was the shocked that got him. Maybe she didn't she get out much. Still, it also meant the captain hadn't broadcast his sorry state to the whole crew.

Nice of him, maybe? Or maybe not. Who knew? Harper groaned. He wasn't used to ambiguity, or being cared for, and right now it was too much for his groggy brain to sort out. If this kind treatment came around to bite him in the butt, well…he'd worry about that later.

A cough that he couldn't hold back welled up in his throat and spilled out _._ Ribs and back aching, he rode it out, then sagged limply into the soft bed again. "Water?" he croaked softly, hoping he wasn't pressing his luck. Seconds later, the engineer felt the cool edge of a glass pressed to his lips as a small hand slipped under his head, raising it slightly. Grateful, he sipped the offered drink.

"Thanks," he said after a moment, letting Kaylee lower his head back down.

"How you feelin'?" Wash asked sadly.

"Semi-human," he answered wearily. "Except for the cough. Doc must have me on the good drugs."

"You should feel honored," Wash replied, forced cheerfulness back in his voice. "The Doc doesn't break out the good stuff for just anyone."

Harper smiled tiredly and then moved around, trying to sit up.

"Whoa! What do you think you're doin'," Kaylee asked quickly, gentle but firm hands on his arms, pushing him back down. "Simon said you should stay in bed. Kinda think that means you shouldn't be getting up yet."

 _Simon_. That was the second time the name had been mentioned and Harper's still foggy brain detoured sharply, bringing back thoughts of the kind, soft-spoken Wayist he'd counted as a friend all those months in the slave camp.

"Simon's dead," he whispered, turning his face away as still raw memories welled up inside of him.

"No, Simon ain't dead," Kaylee's voice was gentle, but also rather alarmed. "Just checkin' on River. He'll be back real soon."

Fighting his tumultuous emotions, the disorientating darkness, and the drug induced haze that still filled his mind, Harper slowly tried to sift thought recent events in his head.

"Simon, he's the doctor?"

"Yeah, an' a rather good one, if a little uptight and stiff," Wash answered. Harper heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor toward his bed. "Why? Know another Simon?"

"Used to," he answered flatly, forcefully slamming the memory box in his brain shut again.

"What happened to him?" Kaylee asked.

"Where's Dylan?" Harper countered purposely, hoping they realized that topic was closed. "And Twig?"

"Restin', like you should be." A new voice had entered the conversation.

"Captain Reynolds?" Harper guessed wearily as he heard footsteps approach, trying hard to match names to voices from the very confusing previous night. At times like this it was exhausting to be blind.

"If you want, but Mal suites me fine," the man answered. Harper felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder. "Gonna live?"

"Um….well, no one's actually gotten around to telling me that yet," he answered honestly.

"Oh." The captain turned to his pilot in mock anger. "Wash! You were supposed to give the 'you'll live' speech! Sent ya down here special to do it!"

"I was getting to it!"

Harper laughed. It turned into a massive coughing fit, but it still felt very good. "Thanks. For everything," he croaked out.

"It ain't much. We're a small ship. Ain't got all those fancy medical dohickies ships in the Core got, but we'll share what we can." Mal stopped for a second and when he spoke again his voice was harder – colder. "Got no love for slavers. Make a living off a the suffering of others. Gettin' some small amount of pleasure from inconveniencin' them."

"Well, in that case, glad to oblige," Harper said. "You oughta know, though, these guys won't take kindly to being _inconvenienced_ , as you lightly put it."

"Don't plan on sticking around long enough to find out, which is why I gotta steal this pretty nurse from you for a bit."

"Knew this dream was too good to be true," the engineer teased weakly before dissolving into coughs again.

"Cap'n?" Kaylee asked. "I don't mind stayin' a bit longer." She sounded distressed by his coughing.

"Know you don't mind, Kaylee, but you got work needs doin'. Can come back later an' visit Harper." The captain's voice was kind but firm, leaving no room for argument. "Wash, stay here with Harper 'til Simon comes back, then come on up to the engine room. Gonna need your help."

Harper felt one more gentle pat to his shoulder as the painful coughs finally subsided. "Just lay here and try to rest, son. Got friends wantin' you to get better." He closed his eyes gratefully as he listened to Mal and Kaylee leave.

00000

"Kaylee," Mal stopped her when they were out of earshot of the infirmary. "What's wrong with my boat?"

His gaze was strong and almost stinging. Kaylee resisted the urge to wince. "Don't know what's wrong with her," she said hesitantly. She felt like she was letting not only Mal but _Serenity_ down by saying it, but it was true. "Wash' n me spent most of the night – we're stumped, Cap'n. It's like she's just shuttin' down for no reason. And it's getting worse."

Mal sighed. "Well, we, and by we, I mean you, need to crack this. I got a mind to not live out my retirement here. Plus, could be some unpleasant company headed our way. Rather not wait for them, dong ma?"

Kaylee nodded, slightly crestfallen. Mal rubbed her hair gently. "Need one of those miracles of yours, okay?"

"I can't find anything wrong, Cap'n!" she burst out, unable to hide the frustration. "The engine should be running fine. Wiring's as good as it ever gets. Even Wash's landing only shook things up real good and left a few scratches on her belly! She should be workin' fine!"

"Well, she ain't," the captain said bluntly.

Kaylee waited a moment, as if expecting Mal to say something more, but when all he did was stare at her pointedly, she sighed. "'K, I'll be in the engine room, lookin' again." As she turned and left she made a mental note to get someone to coach the captain in the art of pep-talks. He was only slightly more cheering than Jayne.


End file.
